


Mistake

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Akiyama Nobutomo Belongs to @judasetcetera, Anal Sex, Crying, Dark Metaphors, Descriptions of gore, Disturbing Themes, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, M/M, Saying the Wrong Name, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 01:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: He meant nothing by it, and yet that simple slip revealed it all.





	Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Akiyama Nobutomo is a historically based OC created by my friend @judasetcetera.

It wasn’t at all like Nobutomo remembered, fast and hard with clothing being hastily torn off and nothing between them save for the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and their harsh, jagged breathing. That wasn’t there this time – no urgent hair pulling and that smirk that Nobutomo remembered so well was long gone. In fact, he couldn’t see his lips at all – he’d agreed to taking off the mask, but had remained turned away the whole time, cocooned in Nobutomo’s arms, which was more than all right.

Holding him – Tenkai – steady, Nobutomo rocked them back and forth gently with slow, deep thrusts, showering languid kisses over the pale expanse of his neck all the meanwhile. There were some parts of him that hadn’t changed – the demand, the need to be owned, the way that his breath would start to hitch when he was getting close, even if he could no longer respond to his former name, even if he did act terribly surprised upon receiving any form of affection.

That’s why they were doing it this way tonight – slow and soft and no pain, no bruises. Even if that was what he _wanted,_ there was something else to be found in gentleness that Tenkai, up until now, had been completely unfamiliar with.

“Hmm,” Tenkai murmured, one hand over his mouth because he didn’t like talking, speaking, doing anything without hiding his face first, and Nobutomo shushed him gently, stroking a roughened hand down his flank before reaching between his legs and groping for what he found there, teasing him with slow strokes and matching the tempo he set with his own hips. He wanted to hear that sound again, bittersweet as it was – needy and urgent and soft in the most earth-shattering way.

“Ah – “

“Sssh.”

 _“Please,”_ Tenkai squirmed in his grasp and he held him tight, just the way that he liked, because Nobutomo could already feel him pulsing in his hand, his thighs quivering against his wrist, he was so close and when he did come, it would be without a trace of fear. He would be safe – safe from whatever had done this to him. Even after weeks (months?), Tenkai had yet to utter a single word about the individual that had stolen his very name and soul from him, but regardless of how little he knew, Nobutomo would be his harbor, his safety, he always would, and the overwhelming tenderness _ached._

“Can’t, _can’t,_ I’m – “

“It’s all right.”

Nobutomo himself was close, and it was hard enough to control himself, to reign in his own urges and keep himself locked onto that steady, slow tempo – this wasn’t for him tonight, wasn’t for him, he didn’t want it to be for him, he wanted to see Tenkai come undone in his entirety, he wanted to hold him afterwards. The little gasp was the only warning he got before he came, pearly white drops sliding out against Nobutomo’s thumb and hand as his whole body contracted, clenched – 

_“No-bun-aga-kou!”_

They both froze. 

And then just like that, Tenkai had hurtled himself to the other side of the mat, curled in on himself like a cornered animal and making these miserable, broken sounds into his hands, as if trying to imitate the shielding that the metal mask would usually give him. Nobutomo felt his chest constrict painfully – at the name, yes, but more importantly at the pitiful sight before him now, his curved spine a long column of steep hills and valleys, all of bone, it was all that was left of him now.

“Didn’t,” said Tenkai, “Can’t _be,_ I – “

“It doesn’t matter,” Nobutomo whispered, opening his arms towards him, trying to coax him out because he could see the wild panic, the suffering, the confusion, and it was nothing like the arrogantly smug man he once knew. Akechi Mitsuhide had been bloodthirsty and absolutely wicked, but now he had been stripped of his skin, leaving behind nothing more than one raw, open wound. “It doesn’t. You didn’t know.”

“I killed him.”

“Don’t think.”

“I failed him.” More urgently now, his breath was short and staggered, and Nobutomo quickly fought against his own rising panic.

“Come here.”

“I am useless.”

“Come _here,_ Tenkai.”

“Useless,” Tenkai rasped again, even as he finally complied and dragged himself back across the mattress. Nobutomo met him halfway, gathering him up as if he weighed little more than fabric and dragging him backwards and beneath the blankets. Cocooned. Harbored. Warm and safe. Familiarity when everything else had been torn away, it was what he would cling to, same as any other human being because that’s what he was, no matter _what_ he thought of himself. “I failed, I _failed,_ I failed.”

Nobutomo squeezed him tighter without even realizing that he’d done so, rocking them gently back and forth – whatever arousal he’d had in him had fallen secondary to this. It pained him, seeing how far he’d fallen, how much he’d lost, and neither of them particularly knew why. But he wanted to be a human being. And Nobutomo would assure him that despite everything he had done, he was, for better or for worse, even if his former Lord still hung heavy on his mind.

He’d called the wrong name because even in death, Oda Nobunaga still owned him – the one shred of hope that he dared to cling to. Sometimes Nobutomo would wake up in the middle of the night to find him by the door, as if debating on whether or not he should simply disappear and continue instead on his mad quest, dangerous though it may be. How much effort had it cost him to simply deny those instinctive urges of twisted loyalty and remain here instead? Nobutomo could not even begin to fathom.

“Sleep now,” he whispered, “It’s done.” Tenkai closed his eyes – Nobutomo could feel his eyelashes brushing against his chest as he did – and sighed shakily, forcing himself to relax, bit by bit. A small triumph, for now, that he would treasure during these times.


End file.
